Massacre at the Burrow
by chicadoodle
Summary: Nearly the entire Weasley family has been massacred. Now, one of the three survivors of the massacre deals with losing hs family, and forges a friendship in the most unlikely of places. Chapter 9 Up!
1. Chapter One

The floodgates of heaven had been opened. This is a muggle saying, signifying a torrential downpoar of rain, most likely created in the days before scientific minds had discovered how rian was truly formed. Now, it is just a metaphor.

A lone boy sat at a window, staring out at the grassy meadows that surrounded his new home, blinking back tears as he recalled that muggle saying. His father had taught it o him ........ and now Arthur Weasley was dead.

A wayward strand of dark red hair falling over his eyes, the young man suddenly reached forward, pushing the window open with a giant heave, and sighing in relief as the chilling raindrops hit his face, their sheer coldness shocking him out of his morbid thoughts. It was also quite helpful with camoflaughing his tears.

Wiping his hand down his face -- starting at his forehead and heading down to his chin -- the teen leaned foward until his elbows were resting o n the windowsill, his hands cupping either side of his chin and most of his cheeks. his eyes were closed, flinching every now and then as raindrops would pelt his closed eyelids.

He ignored the biting pain in his elbows for now, allowing himself tot hink back over the book he had recently finished reading, his mind re-enacting the scene behind his closed eyelids. This, at least, was familiar territory, was safe ground. IT was easier to enact these fantasies within his own mind, than face the reality of what was waitin gfor him, outside of these walls.

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can anybody guess who the boy is? come on people, try and be creative! anybody who can guess it gets a cookie :D let me know if i should continue this or not. i have the next chapter partially written, so just let meknow, alright? later :D allieycosta


	2. Chapter Two

Bill Weasley watched his younger brother, a frown sweeping across his face at the glazed look that had entered into the teen's gaze.

Fred was doing it agai -- escaping into his own little world, blocking out any painful thoughts or emotions he might be having.

He didn't blame the kid for wanting to escape from the world, wanting to block everything out in exchange for his own little fantasy world. But this wasn't coping ........ this was barely even living.

Mum and Dad were dead. Ron, Ginny, Percy -- as annoying as he coudl be at times, he was still family -- George ........ they were all dead. Of the once shockingly large Weasley family, only he, Fred, and Charlie remained.

That had all happened two mongths ago, near the beginning of summer break. He and charlie had recieved news almost immediately, each with their own personal visitor from The Order.

Nobody knew why Fred hadn't been at the house when the attack took place, or why George hadn't been with him. Fred had refused to a word, and even now he only spoke when it was vitally essential.

Meaning, of course, that he'd barely spoken two full sentances for nearly two months.

Bill sighed softly as he truend away from the sigh tof his youngest brother, blinking back the salty tears that rose to his eyes.

He couldn't lose Fred, too. He didn't know if he could survive that.


	3. Chapter Three

Fred pulled himself back away from the window with a soft sigh, reluctantly pulling the window closed and rising to his feet.

Bill and Charlie would probably start worrying about him soon, if he didn't start eating more, and on a regular basis.

Midnight kitchen raids were all well and good, but they weren't exactly the most healthy of things.

Not to mention the fact that Bill and Chaelie would actually see him eating this way, instead of labouring under the impression that he was slowly starving himself, wasting away to nothing.

Pressing the back of his hand against his mouth to hold back the yawn that rose to his lips, Fred made his unsteady way toward the kitchen.

It had been decided that he would say with Charlie in Romania, since he actually had a decent-sizd apartment, with a spare bedroom, whereas Bill roomed with several other workers from the Egyptian branch of Gringotts.

Bill would be heading back tomorrow morning, moving through the Floo Network. Normally this wouldn't have taken very long at all, butwith the new safety precautions ........ they were in the middle of a war, after all.

Which, of course, meant that Charlie would have gone all-out, to ensure that this meal was extra-special.

Lips twitching upwards in a semblance of a smile, Fred quietly slipped into the kitchen, smiling at the sight of his oldst brother in a frilly pink apron. Charlie was ........ a bit wierd, sometimes.

Bill was sprawled out in one of the four kitchen chairs that surrounded the kitchen table.

It was sight that still shocked him to no end, the sight of his usually reough-around-the-edges brother wearing pink rills. Not that he was complaining,mind you -- the food that that man could create was simply heavenly.

Besides, Bill teased him enough for the both of them.

"So, what's on the menu for today, Princess?" Bill asked lightly, grinning as he leaned back in his chair. Charlie merely rolled his eyes, taking the good-natures jibes in stride.

There were more for Fred's sake than anything else, really.

Moving the rest of the plates out onto the table, Charlie motioned for the youngest red-head to join them, before taking a seat, himself.

"Before we all dig in, I think there are somet hings we all need to discuss. First of all, I think that you should re-take your last year at Hogwarts, Fred. I've already spoken to Professor Dumbledore about this, an dhe agrees with me." Here he waited for Fred's nod of acceptance before continuing.

"Also, the ........ funeral. Mum's family has been handling all of the details, and they owled me just this morning, to let us know that the funeral is set for November 14th.

Complete silence reigned over the table now, interrupted only by the sound of Fred's chair scraping against the floor. With a muttered, "I need to be alone," he escaped from the room, neither of his brothers making any more to stop him.


	4. Chapter Four

Fred lay on his side on his bed, blinking back the tears that wer ever present in his eyes. He didn't glance up whe a soft, gentle knock came to his door, nor when Charlie's voice accompanied it, calling his name. The door opened to admit the tall red-head, and still Fred stayed rooted to the spot, staring at the wall opposite.

However, he did so with a purpose. For on that wall he had stuck, through a muggle device known as GLUE, every single picture of George he could find. Other family members were mixed in there as well -- he had atleast one of every person who had died on that fateful day -- but the number of pictures of George far outweighed those of the rest of his family.

He and George were actually not the kind of people who had enjoyed getting their pictures taken. It wasn't that they didn't want to have the memories, or that they did it to spoit other people. It was just that ........ having your picture taken required time, and you had to sit still (or stand still, too), and staying in one place for any amount of time wasn't something that they had done very well.

But that was entirely beside the point. Every picture of George he had been able to find was now plastered to his wall, where he could watch it as he fell asleep. And that was what he had been doing for the last several hour since he had run out of the kitchen -- watching the pictures, that is. Not falling asleep.

--

Charlie sighed softly as he stared at his younger brother, running a hand through his messy red hair. Bill had already left, deciding to get an early start for home. It was actually 4 in the morning now -- none of them had really slept at all last night, making that seem slightly surreal.

He'd been wondering where all of those pictures had gotten to, not that he really minded all that much. Most of the Burrow had been left virtually unharmed, something that usually happened when you wer attacked by Death Eaters, or wizards of any kind. The spells had been aimed at the people, not their posessions.

Treading softly across the hardwood floor, Charlie lowered himself onto the bed, fingers fluttering over Fred's crown of red hair. "Fred, I think that we need to talk."

Charlie wasn't a complete idiot. He knew for a fact that the entire night hadn't been spent on this bed for fred. The younger teen really didn't know how to hide these things very well.

"About what?" Came the muffled reply, and Charlie heaved a soft sigh. He just had to make this more difficult than it had to be, didn't he?

"The scars." Just those two words held so much meaning for the both of them. He didn't have to elaborate -- they both knew exactly what he was talking about.

It was actually only one scar, self inflicted shortly after Fred had first appeared ta his house. They'd all been so wrapped up in their greif, that they hadn't stopped to think that fred's greif was slightly different from their own.

It was a known fact that twins shared part of their soul with each other -- hell, alot of the time (in the wizarding world) twins would end up becomming wed to one another, their relationship chaning into something more sexual. He didn't know if Fred and George had had a sexual relationship, but he did know that they had been connected, in that way that all twins were.

Fred hadn't just lost a brother, he'd lost another part of his soul -- literally. So it shouldn't have come as any big surprise that he had attempted to take his own life. They'd never spoken of it, but Fred wasn't allowed to use normal forks or knives anymore, and whenever he came out of his room he was closely monitored, by either Bill or himself.

But Bill wasn't here anymore, and he didn't have the energy to watch Fred's every movement. It was either Fred swear to him that he wouldn't attempt something like that again, or he get somebody else to come and stay with them. Maybe Harry ........? The dark-haired youth had to be hurting, as well. He'd practically been an honorary member of the family. Whoever, it was, it would haveto be somebody that they weere already familiar with.

"I want to know if I can trust you not to do it again, Fred. And I want you to look at me when you tell me." Charlie said softly, eyes trained intently on the youth spread out before him.

Glancing up at his older brother, Fred smiled itiredly. "I can try." Was the soft response he recieved, and Charlie let loose yet another sigh, glancing down and away from those eyes.

"We're going in to Diagon Alley today, alright? I've got some stuff I've got to pick up, and we can get your books and oher school supplies, too. Be ready at noon, alright?"

Glancing back at Fred, Charlie smiled at the weak nod he recieved as a form of answer. He knew better than to push for anything more than that. It was a miracle that Fred was even saying anything.

--------

Fred stared around himself, taking in the sight of Leaky Couldron. It actually wasn't as hard to come here as he had thought it would be.

True to his word, Charlie had called him down from his room at exactly 12:00 sharp, waiting patiently at the fireplace when he had finially ambled his way down. They had floo'd directly to the Leaky Couldron ........ and now, here they were. IN a place where almost every surface should have held some sort of memory for him, should have sent him other the edge into hysteria.

But it didn't. He looked at this place, and he remembered comming here for as long as he COULD remember. But the pain in his chest wasn't tightening, but lessening. He wasn't staring at these things an dfeeling the urge to cry, but rather feeling a strange sort of calm wash over him. He didn't know why he was so calm about this, but he was glad for it, just the same.

It wouldn't do to cause a scene, now would it?

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Charlie could have kicked himself for not remembering how many memories this place held for him -- it was almost overwhelming. He could control himself easily -- he and Billw ere just like that. Plus, it'd been a while since he was here with the rest of the family, so those memories ween't quite as fresh as Fred's would be.

But what worried him the most wasn't the fact that they were here, in this place filled with so many memories. No, that didn't worry him nearly as much as the fact that Fred WASN'T breaking down. While this might have made anybody else ecstatic with job, showing that perhaps he was finially dealing witht things, Charlie had a hard time believing that that was the case.

Was Fred dealing with things? Was that what was happening here? or was it simply that Fred WASN'T dealing with it, was pushing his pain to the very back of his mind, refusing to even acknowledge it? For some reason, the second option seemed much more realistic.

Shrugging his broad shoulders, Charlie laid a hand on his younger brother's more wiry shoulders, steeing him toward the baack door to the pub -- although some people probably considered it the front door, if they were comming from Diagon Alley.

Forcing such waywards thoughts to the back of his mind for later times when he didn't have quite so much to think about, Charlie tapped the bricks in the fashion he had seen his parents do so many times before. Even that pulled oddly at his heart -- something so familiar, that he had never really expected to himself. He could rarely get the time off to come into London, and even when he did he only came here with one of his parents. But now and forevermore he would be the one to tap the bricks on their little outings, not his Mum or Dad.

Blinking back the tears that rose to his eyes, Charlie glanced over at his ounger brother, frowning at the utter calm that had sparead over Fred's features. He'd sxpected this trip to at least al ittle traumatizing for the younger teen, which wa why he had wanted to get it over and done with as soon as possible. But no ........ Fred was acting like he had never been here with anybody from the family beside Charlie himself before, acting as if these familiar sights didn't bring a sharp pain to his heart like they did to Charlie's.

Yet the mere mention of George's name, or Ron's or Ginny's, or any other others, could send him into fits of rage and greif.

Definately burying his feelings.

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to my wonderful reviewers -- thank you! all two of you! :-)

nidawi hope that your stilling enjoying this! i'm attempting to make my chapters longer, so hopefully this one helps. sorry it took me so long to update, too. not many people seem to be interested in this story :(

emikae well, hopefull this is up to par with what you've read so far. to have the beginnig good and then dwindle off into ickyness is just ........ wrong. enjoy!


	5. Chapter Five

Fred stared at the books in front of him, not really seeing the titles that seemed to blend togeather. His head cocked slightly to the side, he allowed his mind to wander, glancing over at the only other patron of the small bookstore.

Well, perhaps "let" wasn't exactly the right word to use, now, was it? Because there was no "letting" involved. He just couldn't seem to concentrate on much of anything anymore. Anything except for the sight of George's mangled body, his wide, sightless eyes ........

Fred glared at the book in front of him, turning and stalking to the other side of the bookstore and beginning to preuse through the books he found there with a renewed vengeance.

As soon as the first stranger had approached them to offer condolances, Charlie had steered them away from the more popular stores, instead focusing on ones such as these -- smaller, with not so large of a selection, but still able to service their needs. He had a while before Charlie was finished picking out his own books for the course he wsa taking on Dragon mating cycles -- there was actually quite a good selection on the topic. Which meant that he was left aimlessly wandering about the tiny little bookstore, waiting for his older brother to finish.

Sighing softly under his breath, Fred fought the urge to find Charlie and demand to know how much longer it would be before they could leave. He was not a child, godammit!

But it was just ........ strange. Strange to be the only one here, besides Charlie. Strange to have so much time to himself, even when out and about. Strange not to have George here, babbling aimlessly about silly little things, like the color of the bindings of the books, or even the names of the books. The silence was ........ almost deafening.

-------- --------

Charlie glanced at his brother out of the corner of his eye, smiling softly at the bored look on his face. He just didn't know what to do with himself, without somebody else there with him. Without GEORGE there with him.

And there was nothing he could do about it. He'd never really been all that close to any of the younger childeren -- only Bill, really. And he most certaintly didn't share anything in common with the younger red-head.

Sighing softly under his breath, Charlie slid a book from the shelf, adding it to the growing stack already in his arms.

Motioning for Fred to follow him, he quickly paid for the purchases, both Fred's schoolbooks and his own, before hurrying out of the stuffy bookstore and into the blessedly fresh air.

He hated bookstores, especially the smaller ones. He'd seem some muggle ones that weren't too bad -- large and roomy, with a little cafe -- but those here on Daigon Alley were simply too small and stuffy, overflowing with far too many books for his tastes. He was more in his element in the out-of-doors.

Maybe bookstores were detrimental to his health. That'd be nice. Then, at least, he'd have an excuse for avoiding them like the Black Plague.

-------- --------

Sometimes, things just didn't work out the way you had planned. A grave understatement, that was.

Their parents were supposed to be here, badgering him and George to return to Hogwarts. GEORGE was supposed to be here, opening up the jokeshop with him, helping to ignore the afore-mentioned parents.

But George wasn't here, and neither were their parents. Nothing had worked out the way it was supposed to.

Fred kicked aimlessly at the dirt beneath his feet, lagging slightly behind his older brother. Charlie would glance back at him every now and then, a worried look flashing across his eyes, but he never actually said anything, merely turning away as soon his eyes caught Fred's.

They didn't know what to say to each other, how to act. They'd never really interacted when he was younger, and by the time he'd gotten older, Charlie had already been off on his own, and they'd rarely seen each other. Hell, he was closer to HARRY than to his own brother!

So, they opted for silence, insead. Each wrapped up inside their own thoughts, but always aware of the other person.

Speaking not a word as they stepped into the Leaky Couldron, Fred's head snapped up as his name was suddenly yelled, blinking in surprise as a red-eyed Hermione Granger suddenly threw herself at him, his arms closing reflexively around her.

"Please tell me it's not true, please tell me it's not true ........"She was repeating this over and over again, her voice thick withunshed tears, and Fred had to close his eyes against the onslaught of tears, the deep wrenching pain, that threatened to overtake him.

Before he could say anything, however, a pair of hands were pulling her away from him, sending him an apologetic smile as the man -- her father -- led Hermione back to their table.

Fred hesitated a second, before turning to join Charlie. What could he say to her, really, to make things any easier? Any words of comfort he might give would be hollow, without meaning, for he wouldn't believe them himself.

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Fred fell into a ungraceful heap on top of is bed, letting all of his breath out in one large rush. Well, that was fun. NOT.

Pushing himself up onto his elbows, he glanced around the room, wondering what there was for him to do. Sitting at windows and thinking was all well and good, but it did get a tad bit boring after a while.

Most of his belongings were still packed up in the boxes that Professor Dumbledore had had shipped over from The Burrow, stacked on the sides of the room, pressed up against the wall. Clearly marked with little while tags, it was actually relatively easy for his eyes to land on the boxes containing all of his and George's joke shop equipment.

It just felt somehow ........ WRONG to touch that, to work on joke candies, and wands, and everything else they'd been working on, without George there. Wouldn't that be the same thing as admitting that George was gone, that he'd NEVER be coming back?

Maybe it was irrational, but he just DIDN'T want to admit that, or even entertaint he thought of it.

Because how could he survive an entire lifetime without his twin, without his second half?

* * *

- 

a big thank-you to my beta reader, ravyn. and, as for the wonderful reviews ........

**nidawi** a cult thing? well, that's nice. i shall attempt to keep things up to par with what you've experienced so far :D

**emikae** thanks, and keep reviewing!

**digidestined02** yes, it is sad, isn't it? alot of my stories eem to be depressing ........ oh well. hope you enjoy :D


	6. Chapter Six

Fred ran his fingers through his long-ish red hair, staring at himself critically in the mirror. It was still odd, getting dressed without somebody to coordinate his clothes with.

He hoped that he would never get used to it.

Shrugging his shoulders, Fred turned away from the full-length mirror, glancing around the room one last time, before closing the lid of his trunk and beginning to drag it out of the room.

He met Charlie at the stairs, leaning against the handrail and reading over what he could only assume was his parent's will.

It wasn't the first time that stack of papers had first appeared, and the effect they had on him was obviously diminished. Now, he simply ignored them.

He did that with a lot of things.

Smiling weakly at his older brother, he followed after the older man as Charlie levitated the trunk downstairs.

Onward to Hogwarts, then.

--

Draco Malfoy was many things. A liar, a cheat, a scoundrel. He was not, however, sadistic.

As the now youngest Weasley boy boarded the Hogwarts Express before him, Draco watched his every move until he could no longer be seen.

He'd been there, at the Weasley residence on that fateful night. He was supposed to have been responsible for the death of Ron Weasley. Probably because of his long-standing feud with the other boy. His father had been forced to do the job for him. He'd just........ clammed shut, shaking like a leaf.

Apparently a lot of young initiates did. But that didn't stop him from punishing himself for even entertaining the thought of following in his father's Death Easter footsteps. He'd seen what it had done to his father, the way it had changed him. The monster it had turned him into. He didn't want to become that........ but what choice did he really have?

--

Fred sat in one of the last compartments on the train, his head leaning against the window and his eyes staring out at the passing scenery. He didn't really see, or take note of that scenery, however, as his mind was preoccupied with other matters.

All of is old friends -- at least those he had initially entered into Hogwarts with -- were gone, either headed off to university, or into the workforce. Oh, he knew a couple of this year's 6th and 7th years, and even a couple of 5th years, thanks to Tom, but nobody he would really consider a "friend", save perhaps Harry and Hermione.

Funny, that he could think Ron' name without even a twinge of pain (well, okay, maybe a tiny one), but when it came to his twin, just the merest mention of his name brought on a wave of pain so sharp that he was surprised it didn't knock him clear off his feet.

Glancing up in surprise at the sound of the compartment door opening, Fred just barely held back the sigh of frustration that rose to his lips at the sight of just who had intruded upon his solitude.

**-**

**- Change of perspective - **

**-**

Sliding the compartment door closed behind him, Harry Potter stared the red-head before him for a second before sliding into the seat across from him.

It was odd, to see one twin without the other........ but that wasn't what was currently in the forefront of his mind.

Nobody would tell him where Ron was. Or where Ginny was, for that matter. They just stared at him with wide eyes, before mumbling something about needing to be someplace. It didn't matter who he talked to, the response he got was always the same ........ and it was kind of starting to worry him.

But Fred was here -- or was it George? He could never really tell -- and maybe now he could get some real answers.

"Fred, has something happened to Ron and Ginny? I tried to as a couple of other Gryffindor's in my year, but nobody would tell me anything ........" Harry allowed his sentence to trail off into silence at the looks of horror that had suddenly entered into Fred's eyes. "Fred?"

"Harry ........ They're dead. Everybody except for me, Charlie and Bill. There was ........ a Death Eater attack, the Burrow. It was all over the Daily Prophet."

Harry sank back into the seat behind him, staring at the red-head before him in shock, but not really seeing him. Instead, he saw, in his mind's eye, the last time he had seen the majority of the Weasley family, clustered together at the Train Station at the end of the last year. He hadn't really said anything special to them by way of Good-bye, too wrapped up in his feelings of guilt over his Godfather's death.

Ron had been understanding, letting him keep his distance and grieve in his own way, seeming to somehow understand that the best thing for him at the moment was to be lest alone. But no too alone.

Hermione, for all of her book smarts, hadn't really known how to handle him, or his grief. Sure, she had missed Sirius and mourned his passing, but that was nothing compared to the pain he had felt.

Ron, however, had understood, at least to some degree, and had been the one to sit with him in the middle of the night, strong arms wrapped around his body as he shook with the force of his sobs. Ron had been the one to stop him from accidentally overdosing on Dreamless Sleep Potion, to listen as he ranted and raved, blaming everybody possible, including himself, for Sirius' death. Ron had been the one. Always there, always ready to pick him and set him back on his feet again.

So how could he be dead? Was it even possible? Ron had fought against the Death Eaters before, stood with him against nearly every battle he had ever fought against the forces of evil, and had always persevered. How could one measly Death Eater attack do him in, when all of that, even the whole debacle at the Department of Mysteries, hadn't been able to?

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**shazia)Riavera > **it made you cry? erm, i'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing, actually. hope you like this newest installment :D

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hmm, only one review. oh well. i'll probably work on one of my other stories soon -- most likely **life's blood soul's essense**, since that's the one that seems to be getting the most reviews. anyways, hope y'all enjoyed!


	7. Chapter Seven

I know, I know, it took me forever to update. Can you believe that I just wrote this in about a day and half? I know, first I procrastinate, and then I write like a madwoman. My muse abandoned me for a while. But, it's back, and quite a few of my stories are recieving inspiration lately. I let the story off at a spot that was very hard to continue from, mostly because it's so hard to write for Draco. Hopefully he's not too OOC, but sorry if he is. He's a Slytherin, right? Their supposed to be sneaky and conniving!

I recieved some inspiration for this from the Star Wars : Return of the Sith book, not the movie. The book has their descriptions of people like how I described Fred at the very beginning of this chapter, and I thought it was a neat way to do things. If people like it, then I'll continue doing things that way. It seems to come pretty natural when writing. Hope y'all enjoy.

Remember to review! If you don't review, than I don't know if you like it, and I can't continue :) I've already got about 2 1/2 pages of the next chapter written, so it should be updated soon. Toodles!

---- ---- ---- ----

This is what it meant to be Fred Weasley --

5 brothers, town to 2. A baby sister, gone. No longer is your twin brother there to comfort and scheme with you, to share your darkest secrets and desires.

Your greatest desire is to join those who have passed on, to slip quietly in death's gentle slumber ... to put an end to all this pain and suffering, one way or another.

Everything seems dimmed and shadowed, no matter how you look at it, how you turn it this way that. Your appetite is non-existant, yet you eat to ese the fears and worries of those around you.

You know that things cannot continue this way, deep in the pit of your stomach. But what else can you do? Just surviving, day after day, takes nearly all the willpower left in your body.

But it isn't enough. Nothing is EVER enough, without your lifelong companion there with you. Without your twin.

Something has to change.

----

Draco watched as the now youngest Weasley stopped in the middle of the Quidditch Pitch, chewing worriedly on his lower lip.

Why had he come down here? He still wasn't quite sure, even as Fred moved to stand in front of him.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" The words were cold and brusque, nothing like Fred's normally playful and jovial tones.

To be truthful, he'd never really had any problems with Draco Malfoy -- the boy's mean streak had always been directed at Ron, Harry and Hermione -- not really at the rest of the family. But the hatred between their two families was nearly legendary, so he did what he had always been taught to do : he hated the Malfoy's.

But now, as the sole heir to the Malfoy line made his way across the quidditch pitch, Fred couldn't seem to muster up enough energy to do more than just put that extra measure of coldness in to his voice.

As he came to a stop before Malfoy, Fred forced his face in to a cold mask, even as he knew that it was pointless -- everybody had always told him how expressive his eyes were; the windows to his soul.

As the secconds of silence ticked by, Fred found himself frowning in confusion at the uncertain and wary look that had suddenly come over the younger man's face.

And then Draco Malfoy did something he never would have expected, in all his years of life. He offered his hand in friendship.

Literally.

"Fred ... A coule of the 6th and 7th Years are getting togeather down in the dungeons for a private start-of-year party. I was wondering if you would like to join us?" As he said this, the 'blonde ferret' extended his hand, and Fred realised with no small amount of surprise that he was supposed to shake it.

Now, there were many things that went through Fred's mind at this point, but there was only one that stood out above the rest.

There was no difference between them, now. With only three members of their family now surviving, the family vault would no longer be depleted at such an alarming rate, leaving the rest of the money to siply accumulate intereste. Bill and Charlie both had stellar jobs, and had been depositing moneyin to the family vault for quite some time now to help with expenses, while still having mor ethan enough money for themselves.

And not only that, bu thte OTHER vaults had now been opened to them. It had been quite a shock when they'd recieved word of their grandparent's vaults (on their father's side) now being available to them. Apparently, tjeor fatjer jad beem dospwmed as a teemager for reasons that were still unknown, and the vault was only to be made available AFTER his death. The entire Weasley fortune was not at their fingertips.

And it was big. No more hand-me-down clothes or books, no more second-hand junk shops or pawn shops. They had a fortune that could very well rival that of the Potter, of Black family's.

All all of this flew through hi smind at an alarming rate, Malfoy stood with his hand still stretched out, shifting from one foot to another nervously, as the minutes ticked by.

There was more happening here than a simple invitation to a party, of that he was sure. A Malfoy always had an ulterior motive -- that was what his father had always taught him, and he refused to believe that his father was wrong NOW.

But heknew better than to simply dismiss this offering of friendship -- he did NOT want Draco Malfoy as an enemy. Ron wasn't the only who was good at chess -- and strategy.

Tentatively taking the offered hand, Fred couldn't help but return the smile that Malfoy -- Draco? -- threw his way. "I'll think about the party."

"Great! Oh, and I think I saw Dumbledore looking for you earlier -- don't imagine he'd be too pleased with you for skipping the Feast, eh?"

Fred winced slightly at that, giving the blonde a sheepish grin in response.

Draco merely smirked at that, before turning and jogging baack toward the castle. Fred hesitated a moment, running his fingers through his already messy red hair, before following after the Slytherin.


	8. Chapter Eight

I am terribly sorry for the long wait! I'm not sure if this story will follow the new book or now, but for now there will be absolutely no spoilers. Please leave a review if you read this -- I need to know if this story is good enough to continue, or if I should scrap it in favour of my other stories that I'm currently workig on. I really do enjoy writing this one,but if nobody is reading it or enjoying it, then I don't really see the point in continuing to write it. Toodles! And review!

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If there were any two people who truly personified what the Order of the Pheonix truly stood for -- not just the survival of Muggles and Muggle-born witches and wizards, but true tolerance and safety for them in the Wizarding World -- those two people would be Arthur and Molly Weasley.

But now, as he sat in his lofty office alone, with only his thoughts to keep him company, it wasn't for the loss of two valuable members of the Order that he wept. No, it was expected that theyw ould love some, as the days and months of this war dragged on. No, he wept, now, for the loss of two FRIENDS.

As a headmaster, he was expected to keep himself detactched, to not value one student above the other, no matter what talents or gifts one might posess. But in that, he had failed with Arthur, and later with Molly, as well.

Before Sirius Black had broken off from his own Dark family, there had been Arthur Weasley. His family had always been staunch supporters of the Dark Arts, and it was even rumoured that they had supported Grindewald, all those years ago.

But Arthur had been different. Not as uncontrollable or as much of a prankster as Sirius would later become, he saw the world through the eyes of an innocent, up until the day of his death : people were people, he would say. Dislike a person if you wanted to, but killing somebody simple because they couldn't do something you could was simply idiotic.

His family hadn't been too thrilled with that line of thought -- not at all. His marriage to young Molly had been the last straw.

For Molly, her family had been against her relationship with Arthur from the very start. The polar opposites of the Weasley family, they had refused to speak with the new Mrs. Weasley after her marraige.

But Molly and Arthur ... they had touched him, with their simplistic way of thinking, their belief in the goodness of the world around them. He had always felt lucky to number them among his friends and confidants.

Butnow they were gone. And for that, he wept.

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Fred stood before the statue of the Gargoyle guarding the way up in to the Headmaster's office, glaring heatedly at the offending piece of magically-enchanged stonework.

He was running out of candy ideas.

"Oh for the love of ... Weasley Wizard Wheezes!" He hadn't expected it to actually work, and had been prepared to turn around and stalk back toward his common room. It was late, and he was tired, dammit!

However, the minute he uttered the word "Weasley", the Gargoyle jumped to the side, making him blink in surprise and falter on the next two words. Well, that was certaintly unexpected. Welcome, to be sure, but unexpected.

Chewing worriedly on his lip, Fred stepped up on to the moving staircase and allowed it to bring up to the office door.

Before he could even knock, however, the Headmaster's voice came through the thick door. "Come in, Mr. Weasley." Well, at least some things never changed. The old man still seemed practically omnipotent, always seeming to know everything before it happened.

But Dumbledore wasn't omnipotent, was he? Because if he was, his parents would still be alive. GEORGE would still be alive.

Blinking back the tears that suddenly sprang to his eyes -- why couldn't he stop crying! -- Fred pushed the heavy door open hovering th ere uncertaintly for a moment. "I ... I heard that you wanted to see me?"

"Yes, Fred. Sit down." The man's eyes were suspiciously bright as he said this, his tone brusque.

Swallowing thickly, Fred did as he was told, sitting somewhat siffly in one of the chairs that faced the aging headmaster's desk. It felt so strange, to be sitting here by himself -- every other time he'd sat in this office, he had ALWAYS been accompanied by his twin. It just felt ... strange, to be sitting here without George.

He'd just have to get used to it. George was NEVER going to be coming back, and the sooner he realised that, came to grips with it, the better.


	9. Chapter Nine

_My beta seems to have dissappeared off the face of the earth (figuratively speaking), and thus this chapter remains unbeta'ed. Terribly sorry about that. However, pleae enjoy, and review -- reviews make me write faster :)_

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Fred sat heavily down on his bed, quickly averting his gaze from the space where his brother had once lain, now occuppied by another teen -- a Gryffindor 7th year that he didn't recognise.

They were now in the same year, the two of them, due to him having to re-do his 7th year after the disastrous effect of last year's final term. If Ron were here, it would have been slightly worse, having to deal with his younger brother's teasing -- but Ron wasn't here. And that was the whole point, wasn't it? His entire family was dead -- or at least a good portion of it.

His conversation with Dumbledore had been ... unpleasant. Simply more dry facts about his parent's up-comming funeral, and the following one that would be held for his siblings, held togeather in these times of war. It made more sense, especially in regards to cost, to lump the proceedings togeather, if you looked at it from that point of view.

Damn his analytical mind. It had been good in the joke business, but was simply cold and dispassionate when it came to real life.

Rolling over on to his side, facing the wall, Fred blinked back the tears that stung at his eyes, forcing himself to take slow, deep breaths as he fought back the rising tide of his grief.

He would not cry. You would think that he wouldn't have any tears left to cry, after all the waterworks he'd been putting on, lately. Yet they still insisted on comming, no matter how many times he had cried himself to sleep.

But he wouldn't do that tonight. He wouldn't give in to his grief yet again. He wasn't some little girl who couldn't control her own damn emotions!

It didn't work. It never did, really. No matter how often he tried to hold his grief in, it always came spilling out the minute he found himself alone in his bed, lgihts out and prepared for sleep.

Somebody had put up a silencing charm around his bed -- and drawn the curtains closed around his bed. A person who was easily identifiable, from the note that had been left on his nightstand, in the untidy scrawl of one Harry Potter.

_There's a calming potion in my drawer, if you need one. Got a couple from DD for the summer._

_-- Harry_

Fred smiled slightly at that, crumpling up the paper and throwing it at the waste basket, uncaring of wether it actually made it into his goal or not, before creeping over to the younger boy's nightstand and drawing out one of the glass vials, downing the whole of it in one go, before carefully replacing the vial, making a mental note to thank the dark-haired boy later that day.

With a quick glance down at his watch, Fred cursed quietly as he made a mad dash for his trunk, throwing clothes in every direction as he hurried to get dressed. If he was lucky, he could grab a bit to eat before finding his schedual and heading off to his first class.

He just wasn't lucky enough to have the first period of the day free from class.

Apparently, Lady Luck had decided to grace him for once in what seemed like a lifetime, but had only been, in reality, a handful of months. His entire first day was free -- he'd only taken the minimum requirement of courses, having no great ambition to become anything high and mighty in his future that would require th e extra courses that so many other students were taking.

Thus, he was one of the only students to be found wandering his way back to the Gryffindor Common Room, hands stuffed in his pockets as he stared down at his feet, wary to glance at walls tand passageways that always reminded him of this twin brother -- and his younger brother and sister.

Percy was actually easy to forget -- or, well, not forget, but simply not think about. And Mum and Dad ... well, he couldn't really remember them ever visitng Hogwarts for any extended period of time, thus making his memories of these halls absent of their presense.

But ever since 3rd year, he had so many memories of his other three siblings, roaming these halls, playing pranks, teasing his little sister as she went from one boyfriend to the other, driving Ron up the wall with their antics and playful ribbing ...

So many memories. So many painful remembrances that brought a tug to his heart, a tightening to his throat.

He kept his mind focues on his task at hand, however, his feet taking hjim where his mind knew he had to to go -- some place quiet, some place where nobody would think to look for him. He didn't know where that might be -- but his feet seemed to know the way, if he just let them lead him.

He ended up at astronomy tower, daylight pooring in to what was normally seen in only the dark-time hours, giving it a cheery, if somewhat silly look. Afte rall, what point did a telescope have durring the dylight hours? Really? None, that he knew of.

But it was the perfect place to just sit here alone and thik -- or try not to think, as the case may be.


End file.
